He Divorced Me, I Marry A Bigger Billionaire!

Aaliyah's POV

The elevator opened, and I stepped into the sleek, glass-walled penthouse floor of Smith Enterprises, clutching a velvet box with a chocolate fudge cake—Henry’s favorite.

My heart fluttered, a nervous rhythm against the silk of my dress. It’s his birthday, and I’ve planned this surprise for weeks, picturing his green eyes lighting up, the way they used to when he’d pull me close.

The office is dim, the city skyline glittering beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. I paused at the reception desk, expecting to see Margaret, Henry’s assistant, but it’s empty.

A murmur drifted from his corner office, the door slightly ajar. My heels clicked softly on the marble as I approached.

“Henry, you have to do it,” a woman’s voice purrs, low and insistent, slicing through the quiet.

My breath catches as I freeze, just outside the door, hidden by the shadow of a potted fern.

“I know,” Henry replies, his voice a familiar rumble, but sharper, strained. “I will.”

“When?” she presses, her tone coaxing, almost mocking. “You’ve been dragging this out, darling. Aaliyah’s nothing but a placeholder. You know that.”

My chest tightens and the cake box feels as heavy as lead. Aaliyah, My name. I inched closer, peeping into the room.

Henry stands by his desk, his dark brown hair catching the lamplight, his broad shoulders tense. A woman leans against him, her back to me, short blonde hair spilling over a red dress. I can’t see her face, but her hand traces his jaw, intimate, possessive.

“I’ll divorce her,” Henry says, his words a blade to my heart. “I promise. Tomorrow, on our anniversary. It’ll be clean.”

The woman laughs; a soft, cruel sound. “Good. You belong with me, Henry. Always have.” She pulls him down, and their lips meet, a kiss that’s all hunger and certainty.

My vision blurs, tears stinging as I watch my husband—my Henry—kiss another woman, his hands gripping her waist like he once gripped mine.

The cake box slips from my fingers, crashing to the floor with a dull thud. Chocolate smears the marble, a ruin of my hopes.

They don’t hear any of this though, they're too lost in each other.

I stumble back, my heels catching, and flee to the elevator with tears streaming down my face. The doors close, and I’m alone with my heart shattered and the city lights mocking me through the glass.

Now at home, I paced the living room, my blue eyes red-rimmed and my long blonde hair tangled from running my hands through it. I was going insane.

The clock ticks past midnight, Henry’s birthday fading into our anniversary, fourth anniversary.

I should confront him, demand answers, but the image of that kiss burns, it's choking my courage.

Why is he doing this? Whatever have I done to deserve this from him? I've done nothing but love him all the four years we've been together after my foster parents arranged my marriage with him. Why now?

I try so hard to stop the tears gathered in my eyes from flowing down.

Soon, the front door clicks open, and Henry strides in, his tailored suit impeccable, his green eyes icy. It's been like that for the past two weeks now.

Since the day he came home and asked why I never told him about my twin sister, Aurora, a part of me I've been trying so hard to forget for many years.

He's been cold to me since then, devoid of warmth, as if I betrayed him or something by not telling him about the identical twin sister I had.

“Aaliyah,” he says, barely glancing at me as he tossed his keys onto the console. “Why are you still up?”

I opened my mouth, the words ‘Who was she?’ clawing at my throat, but they die easily, under his cold stare.

“I… I wanted to see you,” I stammer, hating my weakness. “It’s your birthday.”

He snorts, loosening his tie. “Don’t bother. I’m tired.”

He brushes past me, heading for the stairs, his scent—cedar and betrayal—lingering.

“Henry, wait,” I called, “Can we talk? Please?”

He pauses with one hand on the banister and his chiseled jaw tight.

“Not tonight,” he snaps, and disappears upstairs, leaving me in the silence of our crumbling marriage.

With his promise to divorce me echoing in my ears, I sunk onto the couch, curled into myself and my mind spiralled.

Tomorrow is our anniversary, and I’ll wait, like a fool, hoping for a miracle, dreading the truth I already know.